


Milk and Sympathy

by FishEyenoMiko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishEyenoMiko/pseuds/FishEyenoMiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly helps Sherlock before he leaves to deal with Moriarty's network.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milk and Sympathy

Molly walked into her flat, quickly closing and locking the door behind her. Entering her living room, she saw Sherlock exactly where he'd been when she's left this morning; stretched out on her couch. Molly's cat, Toby, was lying on Sherlock's chest, fast asleep. Normally she would've shooed him off, but Sherlock didn’t seem to mind when the cat perched on him, so she decided it was best to let them both be at the moment. She tiptoed toward the kitchen with her groceries.

"You don't have to be so quiet; I'm not asleep."

"Sorry."

"And now you're apologizing for being polite."

"Sor..." Molly stopped, clearing her throat instead.

"I'm making spaghetti Bolognese for dinner."

Sherlock didn't reply.

"Right, I suppose I should get started."

 

Molly was heating the Bolognese sauce when Sherlock shambled into the kitchen, Toby following in his wake. Sherlock looked at Molly for a moment, then walked over and sat down at the table. Toby stood next to his chair for a moment, then went over to the counter to mew at Molly for his dinner.

"Yes, all right," she said to him. She got some cat food out and put it in his bowl. Now that Toby was taken care of, Molly went over and washed her hands, getting ready to serve dinner to the humans in the house.

"So," said Molly as she got down the plates, "What would you like to drink? Water or maybe some wine-"

"Milk."

"Oh. Okay!" 

Molly couldn’t help notice that Sherlock had drunk an inordinate amount of milk in the three days he'd been at her place. She didn't question it; of all his habits, it was one of his healthier ones.

Molly poured Sherlock some milk, and poured herself some red wine. She set them on the table and went back to the counter to dish out the pasta. Sherlock's eating habits were erratic, so Molly just put a small portion on his plate. She'd get him more if he wanted it.

When she came back to the table with their food, Molly found Sherlock staring at his milk, as if trying to deduce it. She wondered what he might be able to find out; could he tell where the milk came from by drinking it? Could he figure out what kinds of grass the cow had eaten, or maybe what kind it was? It seemed silly, but she had seen him make pretty unlikely, but accurate, deductions, so she wouldn’t put it past him.

Molly set the plate down, smiling at Sherlock as she did so. He gave her a puzzled look, but accepted the food. 

As Molly sat down, Sherlock began eating.

"I hope it's okay," she said. "The sauce is was from a jar; I didn't feel-"

"It's fine," said Sherlock. 

Sherlock's tone was dismissive; Molly suspected he said it more to shut Molly up then to reassure her.

"Okay," she said softly.

 

Molly and Sherlock ate in silence for while. Sherlock was as much playing with his food as eating it. For her part, Molly was finding the silence uncomfortable. She looked at Sherlock. He seemed sad and thoughtful. She had a feeling she knew why.

"I know you miss John," she said

"Molly..."

"Maybe... maybe there's a way you could tell him? Like, send him a secret message and then-"

"Then what, Molly?" Sherlock replied angrily. "Then he comes looking for me, or says the wrong thing, and blows the whole thing? Getting himself AND Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson killed?"

"I don't think-"

Sherlock slammed his hand onto the table.

"No, Molly, you _don't_ think! That's the problem!"

Lurching to his feet, Sherlock stomped to Molly's room, slamming the door behind him.

 

Molly took a few slow breaths, fighting the urge to cry. After a few moments, she got up and picked up Sherlock's plate and glass. Taking them into the kitchen, she put cling film over the pasta and the top of the glass, putting them in the fridge for later. Then she went to her room, knocking on the door.

"I'd like to come in, please?"

There was no reply.

"Okay, I'm coming in."

Opening the door, she walked in. She found Sherlock curled up on her bed.

Toby rushed past Molly's feet, jumping onto the bed. He pushed against Sherlock's arm. He lifted it, and Toby snuggled against his chest.

Molly walked over to the bed.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I just-"

"He thinks I'm dead... and he's going to hate me for what I did. For that I did _to him_."

Molly sat on the edge of the bed. 

Sherlock rolled over, looking at Molly. Then he turned to stare at the ceiling.

"Maybe I shouldn’t come back."

"Don't say that! Sherlock, there are people here that will miss you..." 

Sherlock actually smirked. "You mean you?" 

Molly looked away. She knew she was blushing.

"There are others, though. John will be upset, but I really believe he'll forgive you. He... he loves you, you know."

Sherlock smiled. Then he sighed, resting his hands on his face. He sat up.

"I've stayed too long..."

He took out a phone, registered to the fictitious Victor Trevor, and began typing a text.

"No, it's fine," said Molly, "I don't mind."

Sherlock put his phone away. "No, I mean I have work to do and I've been putting it off."

"Oh. Right. You'll be leaving soon?"

Sherlock nodded. 

"Tonight?"

"No, I'll stay tonight. But I'll be gone before you come home from work tomorrow."

"Okay." Molly thought for a moment. "Is there anything I can do that would help?"

"You've helped enough," said Sherlock. Then he furrowed his brow. "That sounded rater harsh."

"A little," Molly agreed with a smile.

"What I mean is, you've done more than your share, Molly. I have to do the rest on my own."

"Okay."

Sherlock got up. 

"I'll let you get ready for bed."

"Okay. I put your food in the refrigerator."

"I'm not really very hungry," Sherlock replied.

"I wish you'd eat a little more," Molly said. "Who knows the next time you'll get a good home cooked meal."

"Well, tomorrow morning..." Sherlock looked at Molly. "Oh, I see; you think I'm going to leave tonight, don't you. I told you I wasn't... but you think I'm lying."

"It's okay, I don't mind."

"Molly, I..." Sherlock laughed. "I'll see you in the morning."

Sherlock turned to leave. Then he turned back.

"There is something you can do Molly."

"Yes, of course, what is it?"

"Keep an eye on John. I'm not sure how well he's going to deal with... all of this. Mycroft is looking after him in his way, but..." Sherlock smirked. "But he's even more detached than I am. He can protect John physically, but I'm not sure he can help him... well, emotionally. Maybe you can."

Molly smiled. "I'll do my best."

"Thank you. Good night, Molly."


End file.
